


Coworkers with a Contract

by Shamione



Series: Dramione One Shots [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst with a Happy Ending, Auror Draco Malfoy, Auror Hermione Granger, Co-workers, Confessional, Confessions, Draco Malfoy Feels, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Feels, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Hermione Granger & Draco Malfoy Friendship, Light Angst, Love Confessions, Mild Smut, Non-Graphic Smut, POV Hermione Granger, Quidditch, Quidditch World Cup, Smut, Sports
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-05
Updated: 2020-12-05
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:07:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27718618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shamione/pseuds/Shamione
Summary: Sometimes signing a contract with a coworker isn't the best idea one can have. But when that contract assured dates with a man Hermione found herself knowing all too well, what was a witch to do? But two years of faking it was just too long.
Relationships: Hermione Granger & Draco Malfoy, Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Series: Dramione One Shots [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1872553
Comments: 43
Kudos: 247
Collections: Completed/Downloaded/Read Works, Make it... Quidditch!





	Coworkers with a Contract

**Author's Note:**

> **Prompt:** Fake Dating
> 
> Written for Dumbledore's Armada Discord Flash Fest Make it.... Quidditch hosted by hslades. I do hope you enjoy this piece! No beta. 
> 
> Winner:  
> • Best Romance  
> • Player's Award (Reader's Favorite / Best Overall)  
> • hslades' Favorite (Host's Favorite)

"When we agreed to this, you said _anything_ that the other needed."

Hermione groaned, slipping into the overtly salacious dress from her quasi-boyfriend. "Do you genuinely need a date to a Quidditch match?"

"A typical match? No. A match in a private box overflowing with single, pureblood, marriable slags? Assuredly," his mirthful timbre drifted in from the sitting room as Hermione magically zipped her gown. "Mother believes it's time I got married, and I wholeheartedly disagree. So I need a shield from all of the beautiful women who will unavoidably fling themselves at me today."

"And I'm -"

"That shield, correct," he confirmed without hesitation, but Hermione felt a sharp sting radiate from the middle of her chest, slow-building disappointment swelling in her gut. "Think of this as payback for Christmas at the Burrow."

"That was a lovely time!"

"That sweater gave me a rash!"

Hermione scoffed, dusting on a sheer layer of makeup before capping out her ensemble with a spritz of the perfume he'd bought her on holiday with her parents in Paris - their first official "fake" date. Hermione had casually let slip the idea during their morning coffee and case review routine at the DMLE. A nonchalant request that he accompany her as a barrier from the handsome, well-off, entirely pompous colleague her parents had encouraged to join them.

He hadn't outright accepted, but the next morning he'd appeared with a fairly elaborate contract. " _For formality's sake_ ," he'd smirked.

Now he presently stood, some two years later, perusing her bookshelf for new texts. Stepping soundlessly from her room, Hermione considered him in his moment of contemplation. She wasn't sure why formal attire was expected for a bloody Quidditch match, but she was confident she enjoyed it. Draco Malfoy resembled an untarnished Adonis in a flat black suit, tailored to fit each centimeter of his tall figure flawlessly - including his surprisingly voluptuous arse.

Hermione cleared her throat, though it was fruitless against the lopsided grin he wore as he turned, drinking her in. He wasted little time before traversing the tiny sitting room to skim his hands about her waist. He moved into her, so tantalizingly near, that every ounce of his being overwhelmed her senses. The soft fragrance of sandalwood and the warmth of his hands as they shifted to her arse. The silk of his emerald tie as her fingers coiled around it. The captivating grin he wore, gazing down at her enclosed in his arms with a gentleness in his eyes.

"And you've worn it how many times since?"

"Inconsequential," Draco smirked, grasping her arse with titillating pressure. Lewd, but Gods did Hermione love it. "Your tits look amazing in that dress."

She giggled, truly _giggled_. "And I can hardly see your ego in that suit."

He barked a laugh, drifting his hands up her figure as if he knew every curve, cupping her neck tenderly. His lips met hers in a well-practiced kiss that made her fingers clutch his tie with passion. Not their first kiss, and Hermione desperately yearned for it not to be their last.

Kissing had been strictly off-limits, as had shagging - her one amendment to their nearly airtight agreement. Their arrangement was sound. They'd be one another's companions for awkward situations: weddings, birthday parties, holidays, etcetera. And they'd managed two years without so much as a peck. Heaps of unresolved sexual tension, unquestionably, but nothing overtly physical.

Until twelve minutes past midnight on Valentine's Day as they'd cuddled close on her humble sofa. Until his fingers had ghosted across her jawline, shifting her lips toward his, eyes soliciting dissent but receiving none.

Until both had leaned in, sealing the shallow gap and swelling the dark voids of their souls with passion.

Okay, perhaps that's an exaggeration. But it had been the most romantic kiss Hermione had ever experienced. Though, each one following had given the prior a run for its knuts.

Realization had thumped like a ton of bricks three weeks later when Draco accompanied her father fishing for his birthday, alone, while she prepared dinner with her mother. A realization that cried for what they shared to no longer be artificial. She wanted them to be real. Exclusive - ring on her finger exclusive. But how did one broach such a delicate matter with a man who only fancied being friends with fake dates? Hell, were they even truly friends? Or were they merely coworkers with a contract?

Draco leaned back but lingered near enough that she could feel a grin paint his features as he whispered, "Take the book out."

Hermione scoffed, nudging him petulantly. "Oh, come off it, Draco! I'll be -"

"Ah, ah, Granger," he smirked, drawing her in tighter. "Tonight is my night, and I would hate for you to upset Blaise because you're reading and not watching his husband win a World Cup."

Her face couldn't have expressed her contempt more as she removed the book from her handbag, floating it to the bookshelf.

"Ready?

"Can't wait…"

With a quick, sickening turn, her sitting room was empty.

* * *

Quidditch. The most asinine export of the Wizarding World. At least, from Hermione's perspective. The additional _fifty_ people in the Malfoy box at the 2006 Quidditch World Cup undoubtedly disagreed. Or perhaps they didn't, given scarcely a handful were genuinely watching the match.

Yet, for the first time in Hermione's life, she found herself avidly aching to do just that. Because while she despised Quidditch, she abhorred gossip more. And Pansy fucking Parkinson and two additional harpies Hermione care little to remember wouldn't shut up.

She was positive distaste corroded her expression. Admittedly, she was irritated with the pug-face, but her simmering resentment converged more so on the pale blonde arse who'd seemingly abandoned her to strut his absurdly inflated ego about the party. He'd disappeared an hour prior, leaving her to listen as Pansy and her cronies argued who had, in fact, shagged him most recently.

Some slag named Emmaline, apparently, and recently, by the sound of it. Hermione's fingers rapped against her wine glass to halt herself from screeching in frustration. She and Draco were friends, no, coworkers with an agreement. If he wanted to shag random bimbos, that was his business. But the surging discontent in her stomach sang another tune.

"Granger! There you are," a deep, imploring voice declared before Draco appeared, flushed from alcohol. "Salazar's saggy sack," he murmured, encircling a hand around Hermione's bicep, turning to Pansy and uttering, "Excuse us, would you?"

Somewhat coarsely, he guided her toward a calmer corner of the room, turning to thrust her back against the wall. He drifted into her, sliding a knee between hers. Far more intimate than they'd stood in the past, but he didn't appear to mind they were in public. His hand merely lowered to her hip as he grinned drunkenly, and Hermione attempted to battle a bubbling bliss by submerging into her temper.

"What the hell, Malfoy?"

"You see that blonde over there?" he queried, flicking his head toward the bar.

Hermione peered over his shoulder at various blonde witches. "Which one?"

"The one with the fat arse," he chortled drunkenly, floating further into her as his hand shifted lower around her back. But Hermione felt her disappointed bitterness rage, countenance falling flat. "Just needed to escape for a while."

"Why?"

"We shagged, I never owled her, and she won't quit sending me letters."

"Then it appears a reunion is in order," Hermione snapped harshly. "You're in luck. She's walking over now."

A trace of shock flitted over his features before he leaned in and planted his lips firmly upon hers. Possessively. Demanding. Much lewder than he'd ever been previously. His lips drifted down Hermione's jaw, and she had to restrain herself from melting into his embrace.

"Draco!" She whispered scathingly, attempting to shove him off.

"You said anything, Granger," Draco murmured against her neck, a hand seizing her arsecheek as his lips peppered heatedly up her throat.

"This," she squeaked, striving to stop a whispered moan as he kissed the sensitive flesh near her ear. "This is-"

"Everything I've wanted."

Gods, it was everything she'd craved, too. But not like this. Not as a mechanism to make other women envious or as a last resort. Not as the only alternative to avoid a woman he'd recently shagged. Hermione couldn't stave the seething discontent in her nerves. A disappointment that thrust her hands into his chest, shoving him staggeringly backward.

"This isn't what _I_ want!" Hermione cried, several nearby partygoers glancing her way as she rushed from the box into the rickety stands.

A firm, trembling hand enclosed about hers before she could reach the staircase, dragging her to a halt. "Hey, I'm sor -"

"I can't do this anymore, Draco," Hermione stated matter-of-factly, ripping her hand from his.

"What? We agreed -"

"I am fully aware of what we agreed. I... just can't do this anymore. I can't gab with your friends about who you have or have not shagged! If you've got other prospects, invite them in the future! I'm finished."

"Granger -"

"Goodbye, Draco."

"Granger, wait!"

With a sudden, sickening spin, her feet crash-landed in her sitting room, knees buckling as she wept.

* * *

Shuffling in her kitchen drew Hermione's gaze to the sole individual she wished not to see. She'd warded the Floo, but Muggle tendencies had thwarted her. Draco lofted a dirty keychain, ordinarily hidden beneath the otter figurine on her back doorstep, and Hermione scoffed, turning her face to conceal her tearstained skin.

"Isn't your blonde bint waiting?"

"She's what brought this on?"

Draco inhaled a pacifying breath, shuffling to kneeling before the sofa. A supplicating smile lingered on his lips as his hands encircled hers, and Hermione tried to mount her anger once more. Although it hadn't sincerely been anger in the first place, had it?

"Granger, the last witch mother forced me on a date with was Emmaline - _five years ago_. I told you about her. She's the one that took her spoon and-"

"Dangled it from her nose during dinner?"

"The same," Draco's chuckle echoed Hermione's watery one. "I regret mentioning, uh... That was five years ago, well before our understanding. I apologize if I hurt you tonight."

"Why haven't you dated -"

"Because I love you, Hermione. I have loved you for a very long time."

It felt as though he'd sucked every last breath from her lungs. But he scarcely gave her a moment to think before continuing.

"I no longer fancy fleeting, trivial shags. I want _you_. The day you proposed our arrangement was the best in my life. It felt as though I finally had a chance to be the one to make you smile. To make you laugh. To purchase all the books at which you so longingly stare on our lunches in Diagon. I love -"

Had Hermione leaned in first, or had Draco? Truthfully, it didn't matter. All that mattered was the tender yet demanding warmth of his lips caressing hers. The relief she welcomed as his hands slid up her thighs to cup her arse and lift her and the unadulterated desire surging amongst them as he lowered her smoothly onto her bed.

Gods, their bodies rocking together was better than she ever could have envisioned. Frantic, yes. Urgent, yes. But also emotional. Tender. Passionate. Their first moments of absolute togetherness were heated, heavy. Purely magnificent - intense yet charged with the same fervor that traced their every interaction. It didn't last long, but it hadn't needed to.

His moan of release sang seconds after her euphoric cry of ecstasy. Taut toes jutted toward the ceiling, fingers clutching brilliant blonde locks as their worlds shattered, melding together in a swirl of unmitigated lust and unbridled love. Draco collapsed atop of her, nuzzling into her neck with a sated sigh.

"Why didn't you simply tell me?"

"Would you have accepted my dinner invitation had I asked?" came Draco's curl-muffled comeback.

"I…"

"It's fine. That doesn't matter anymore, Granger."

No. No, it didn't.


End file.
